Odd
by crazyLantern
Summary: Dr Frederick Chilton knows exactly what he wants, and who he wants to be. But Beverly Katz is perplexing and intriguing and one hell of an FBI agent and suddenly Dr Chilton isn't so sure of what he's supposed to feel anymore. Chilton/Katz. Reviews are GREATLY appreciated :)


**Author's Note: So. Hannibal. I am in eternal awe of Bryan Fuller's storytelling, and needless to say I absolutely adore the amazing work that the actors have put in over 3 short, yet stunning seasons of pure art. I have the greatest respect for everyone in the Hannibal fandom, every piece of fan art or fan fiction seems just as lovingly created as the show itself. So I can only hope that I've done the fandom and Hannibal itself justice with this piece**

 **But let's talk about Dr Frederick Chilton. He's a slimy, arrogant sleazebag, and I LOVE him. There's just something about Raul Esparza's portrayal of Chilton that's so vulnerable and superbly pompous at the same time. And then there's Beverly Katz. Tough girl, kicks ass, a real no-nonsense straight-shooter. I mourned her greatly in Season 2...**

 **Throughout Hannibal's seasons I've always wanted to see more of Chilton's character, his backstory, his personal life (and Beverly Katz too, of course). I've also noticed some instances and gaps in the story that are open for interpretation, and after some thinking (aka, fangirling), I had the idea for a Dr Chilton/Beverly Katz pairing. Yes, it's a super random ship, I know, but there are numerous scenes in the show that could imply that these two could be a thing. (Anyone else notice how easily Beverly gains visitor access to Will Graham in Chilton's hospital in Season 2?) And well, I think Chilton and Katz complement each other quite well, so I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! :)**

* * *

Dr Frederick Chilton rarely has visitors, if any at all. So when he first hears the knock, he assumes that it is a figment of his imagination, or that damned janitor's broom bumping against the bottom of his office door for the third time this week. ( _Competent staff are so hard to come by these days.)_

But then he hears it again, a sharp, jarring sound piercing through the quiet lull of his afternoon, and curiosity starts to bubble within him. Instantly, he resents himself for buzzing with excitement at the mere prospect of company, and is quick to dismiss it as a product of the boredom endured from an uneventful day.

The knocking intensifies as Dr Chilton rises from his velvet-lined chair no quicker than usual, enjoying the impatient beats raining down on the woodwork. ( _It makes him feel_ _ **important**_ _.)_ Subconsciously, he smooths down the one wrinkle on his blazer, drifts a hand through his head of gelled hair, because first impressions mean absolutely everything.

The door swings open without so much as a creak, and he barely manages to dodge the fist aimed at a door that's no longer there.

"Oh! Dr Chilton, almost didn't see you there."

His unexpected guest retracts her hand, flashing him a sheepish, though not entirely apologetic grin. Immediately, Dr Chilton suspects that the wiry, young woman standing in front of him isn't particularly skittish or shy.

He takes a moment to clear his throat, and straightens his posture, leering down at her from the tip of his nose before speaking.

"And who might you be?"

"Good afternoon to you too, Dr Chilton. I'm Beverly Katz, and-"

"The Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane is not hiring interns at the moment, Ms Katz," he cuts her off brusquely before she can even offer up a handshake, "Though perhaps if you apply next fall-"

"I apologize for the confusion, _Doctor_. But I'm not here looking for a job."

Beverly Katz flashes him another toothy grin, restlessly tapping the badge resting above her right hip with a single finger. The words " **FBI** " and " **Special Agent** " are embossed in big, bold black, juxtaposed against the gaudiest shade of gold he'd ever seen. How he could have missed it is entirely beyond him. Dr Chilton bites down the unwelcome rush of embarrassment, and instead uses the opportunity to give his surprise visitor a more thorough once-over.

 _Sun-kissed skin. Coral pink lips. Russet brown eyes that glimmer with the promise of mischief. Attractive by his standards? Yes. Exceedingly so._

He files away the little details carefully, convinced that he would find a reason for their relevance later. Finally, his gaze falls upon her name tag, and the three words that were actually of some usefulness to him.

 _Behavioral Science Unit._

Something clicks in Dr Chilton's head, a puzzle piece sliding into place.

"I don't believe we've met, Ms Katz," he drawls, leaning lazily against the door frame, "My last encounter with the Behavioral Science Unit was with a certain Jack Crawford, if I recall correctly. High turnover rate, I presume?"

"What?" She quirks an eyebrow at him, "No, Jack sent me actually, I'm here to-"

"Ah," the beginnings of a smirk start to form on his lips, "One of Jack Crawford's minions."

He watches as Beverly Katz stares at him in disbelief, quietly noting that she has barely flinched at his comment. And then she laughs, a pretty, breathy sound.

"Aren't you a piece of work. Zeller and Price did warn me that this place was the lion's den."

 _Zeller and Price… Why did those names sound familiar? More importantly…_

 _The lion's den?_

It is a befitting title for his hospital, and an even more flattering label for its administrator. ( _Dr Frederick Chilton. King of the lion's den.)_ Against his better judgement, Dr Chilton is suddenly consumed by the irrepressible urge to know if Beverly Katz shares the same sentiments as the aforementioned Zeller and Price.

"Well, is it?"

"Mm, lion's den, not quite. Feels more like pulling teeth," she shrugs, tossing a handful of dark hair over her shoulder, "Now if you're done interrupting me, I really have some work to do."

He lets her brush past him and waltz uninvited into his office without a word, too busy nursing his wounded pride.

"As I was saying, Dr Chilton, I'm here on behalf of Jack Crawford and the Behavioral Science Unit," Beverly says as she drapes herself comfortably across his leather couch.

"I believe that has already been established," he answers drily, "And please, do make yourself comfortable."

"Thanks, already have," she chirps as she kicks her feet up on the armrest, "So we're investigating a series of murders we believe to be linked to the Chesapeake Ripper, he murdered his first 3 victims in 9 days-"

"In Minneapolis, Essex and Baltimore. No activity for 18 months, and then another 3 victims surfaced, this time all in Baltimore," Dr Chilton finishes the specifics for her, determined to make it clear that he was privy to more than a fair share of confidential FBI information.

"I assume you're familiar with the Ripper and his… work."

"I was invited by the FBI to consult on the case at the time, so yes, that is an astute assumption, Ms Katz."

"Oh? Well, we believe that the Ripper has killed again," Beverly reaches into her bag and retrieves a file, "Jeremy Olmstead. Found dead in his workshop."

She slinks off the couch to hand him the file with an effortless sort of grace, reminding Dr Chilton vaguely of a lioness prowling through the grass.

"Dead seems to be an understatement," he grimaces as he skims through the file, images of the desecrated man burning vividly into his mind.

"Huh. Didn't take you for the squeamish sort." From the curl of her lips he knows that the jibe is meant in jest, but he cannot push down the swell of indignity that surfaces, or the urge to prove that he is in fact, _not_ squeamish. But he is. He knows he is. (" _Oh, Frederick. You're never going to be a surgeon, dear.")_

"High levels of empathy are not to be confused with _squeamishness_ , Ms Katz," his tone is clipped, defensive, "As such, I can assure you. I am more than capable of providing _professional_ insight into the nature of these murders." _Gruesome as they may be._

"And what insights might those be?"

"Based on the location of Mr Olmstead's wounds and the tools used to puncture his body, it seems that the Ripper wished to create his own version of the Wound Man."

"The Wound Man?"

"Yes, the Wound Man," Dr Chilton pauses for effect, and reaches for a well-dusted book sitting on one of his many bookshelves. ( _Third shelf from the bottom, fifth book from the left.)_ "An illustration that first appeared in European surgical texts from the Middle Ages. Page 37, if you were wondering."

"It says here that the Wound Man was used as an anatomical guide for injuries by surgeons and doctors way back in the day," Beverly sounds impressed, fascinated even. Dr Chilton is happy to let the small wave of pride wash over him. She turns to face him, brown eyes sparkling with enlightenment, "That makes sense. Jack always said that he thinks the Ripper has surgical experience."

Dr Chilton lets loose a derisive snort, "Who do you think gave him that idea in the first place?"

"Ah, yes. You consulted," she smiles briefly, "That's why I'm here actually. Jack would like to invite you to consult on the Ripper's murders again."

"... And he sent _you_. Seems sincere."

"That's what I told him," she huffs, "But he slapped me with a bunch of case files and told me to drop them off at your office, so here we are."

"Ah, of course," Dr Chilton chuckles, "Can't have the higher-ups relegated to delivery duty now, can we?"

"No, I suppose the higher-ups have better things to do than talk to you."

Dr Chilton does not usually take snarky remarks to heart, in fact, he revels in dishing them out, but _that_ quip in particular hurt.

"I am under no obligation to consult on the Ripper's murders, Ms Katz, you would do well to remember that."

"I meant nothing by it, Dr Chilton," she's realized that she's touched a nerve, and recants quickly, "Only that the Behavioral Science Unit would deeply appreciate your expertise."

"And should I decline?" Dr Chilton tries to sound offhanded, but the hardened glare in his moss green eyes betrays more than he'd like to let on. ( _Weak like always, Frederick.)_

"Then I am sure Jack would understand. But think about it, please" Beverly's voice drops a notch, oddly soothing in its candidness, "You could help catch him, Dr Chilton, you know you can. And I personally can't think of anyone better-qualified to get into the Ripper's mind. Your credentials speak for themselves."

"You read my work?" Dr Chilton blinks, and any trace of animosity he'd been holding on to vanishes.

"' _A Theory of Violence: Episodic Aggression and the Modern Day Serial Killer'_. Fascinating stuff, for the most part."

He tries very hard to keep his expression impassive, but it is impossible not to feel any delight at all when someone actually recognizes your work. ( _Hours and hours spent hunched over his own notes, fueling night after night of endless research with countless cups of coffee.)_

So instead, he squares his shoulders haughtily, and tilts his chin so that he's looking down at her again with a smug grin when he answers, "Ego stroking will do you no favors, Ms Katz."

"I can stroke much more than your ego if you like," there is a deliberate pause before she adds, he assumes, just for good measure, "Doctor."

He is arrogant, and he is condescending ( _Of course he is, he's Dr Frederick Chilton for God's sake!)_ , but in that moment, Dr Chilton is also smiling, genuinely, for once, and Beverly Katz seems to know it too.

 _Perhaps he will consult after all._

* * *

 **Author's Note 2.0: So this could be a one-shot, or I could expand this into a drabble-ish sort of series centered about Chilton/Katz, not too sure yet. Please let me know what you think and leave a review, I'd really appreciate any feedback. Oh, and favorite/follow if you liked it! Thanks again for reading.**


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